


the dark end of the street.

by billielurked



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Crowley and Aziraphale love 60s-70s soul and R&B music, M/M, Romance, Short One Shot, Slow Dancing, Yearning, they're just two weird sad old gay guys who really miss eachother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24632917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billielurked/pseuds/billielurked
Summary: Let us go to the club, then. It's been a charming evening, and we must end it charmingly.Crowley and Aziraphale haven't seen one another in a while, now. They decide to go dancing.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16





	the dark end of the street.

**Author's Note:**

> At the dark end of the street  
> That's where we always meet  
> Hiding in shadows where we don't belong  
> Living in darkness to hide our wrong  
> You and me, at the dark end of the street
> 
> I know time is gonna take its toll  
> We'll have pay for the love we stole  
> It's a sin and we know it's wrong  
> Oh but our love keeps coming on strong  
> Steal away, to the dark end of the street, mmm
> 
> They're gonna find us  
> They're gonna find us, oh someday  
> You and me, at the dark end of the street  
> You and me.

Crowley and Aziraphale had an arrangement.

Not  _ that _ arrangement, the big one with all the complex terms, conditions, contextual requirements, scrawled down afterthoughts, jokes which had become rules, actual jokes, and conditional addendums. It wasn't the kind of arrangement which defined their relationship as opposing forces. No, this particular arrangement was more of the social kind, purely social. It had been made as an answer to a side effect of the other arrangement. If they were going to run into each other all the time anyways, they might as well make a schedule of it. 

So, they did. Quite a long time ago now, really, but as situations fluctuated with each of their sides, they made the necessary adaptations so as to avoid detection. Some decades posed no challenge. Others, they barely got a glimpse of one another. This was one of those times. 

It was the early 1970's, and Crowley had been up to a long list of what could only be described as no good. 

The boredom gnawed at him.

He'd grown rather comfortable with their previous arrangement. They'd meet every second Friday evening for dinner, and once a month on Thursday afternoon for a spot of lunch. That was it, actually. Sparse. But it was enough to miss, now that the risk outweighed the enjoyment. He wondered, sometimes, if maybe he'd done something wrong. _You go_ _too fast for me, Crowley_ , came to mind sometimes, but it only ever made him more restless, moving quickly on to the closest available distraction. The desperation curdled in him. 

They'd run into one another from time to time, as they always did. Even had their fair share of phone calls. But extensive, frequent outings must've been completely off the table- at least, that's what Crowley assumed. Aziraphale had held him at a bit of a distance. He wouldn't do that unless he had a very important reason for it. He wouldn't. Crowley took it in stride! It did not bother him at all not to see him every other Friday evening and once a month on Thursdays for a spot of lunch, and it most certainly did not sting that the phone calls rarely exceeded 10 minutes. He was not keeping count. Not on paper. 

Crowley was fond of concerts. He was also fond of dark, windowless bars with funny stained glass lampshades, and any type of dance club which incited a night-long headache due to the noise level. He'd even discovered a knack for roller skating. He'd written down a mental list of places to visit which fit these descriptions, and the list was quickly dwindling. Before Crowley grew desperate enough to start looking outside of England, he picked a random locale off the dredges of the list, just as an excuse to busy himself and avoid the echoing halls of his flat for another night.

Annie's was the name, no other description offered. It was tucked far back down an alley, between two glowing restaurants boasting high price lobster at increasingly competitive increments. He deliberated whether he should trouble them with some light rat issues just for the hell of it.

He sniffed the air, and froze midstep. 

Aziraphale emerged from the restaurant to the right, hands mindlessly adjusting his neckerchief.

Crowley stared. "Fancy seeing you here." 

The angel flinched in surprise, spinning on one heel. "Oh!" His hands hung uselessly in the air in front of him. "Oh, I-" 

"Which one's better?"

"What?"

Crowley gestured between the two restaurants. 

"Oh. Um. That one," he replied, and pointed at the one he hadn't just emerged from. He wrinkled his nose. "Smells better."

They stood, simply staring uncomfortably for several seconds. 

Aziraphale fidgeted. He glanced conspicuously both ways down the road, even peering across and into the park opposing where they stood. It must've lived up to his standards, because he turned and asked, "Are you busy?"

He shrugged, hands in his pockets. "I was headed somewhere." 

The angel glanced down, then, shaking his head sheepishly. "Oh, of course. I don't want to impose."

Well, that just made him feel bad. "I invite you to impose." Crowley cleared his throat, jerking his chin down the alley. " _ Let us go to the club, then. It's been a charming evening, and we must end it charmingly _ ."

The other man hurriedly trotted over, pausing only a foot or two away, a small grin on his face. "Since when do you quote Wilde?"

He sniffed. "Since I went to his dinner party." 

"Where are we going, then?"

"What did I just say-?"

"The club, the club." Aziraphale folded his hands at his waist. "There's a lot of different kinds of clubs." 

The door swang open, Aziraphale catching it to usher him in first.

"There," Crowley said, and pointed to the bulletin board hanging off the wall.  _ Soul Saturdays _ read the calendar, a small poster beside it listing the featured musicians of the evening. There was a small booth down the way, the walls and floor of the hall both red, patterned with orange circles. 

The lady behind the counter looked less than delighted to be there. "Two dollars," she demanded, monotone, left hand outstretched, the right slowly flipping through a magazine. They both reached for their wallets at the same time, but Crowley was the first to put a hand up near Aziraphale's face, blocking the way. The lady took the two dollars and went right back to the serious business of completely ignoring them. 

"Thank you." Aziraphale said, clearly caught off guard by the friendly gesture. If he started throwing around words like generous, thoughtful, or Devil forbid,  _ nice _ , Crowley might just turn tail and leave. This must have been obvious in his body language, because Aziraphale didn't say a word more.

The dance hall wasn't crowded, per say, nor was it empty enough to be awkward, or eerie. Some friends sat and chatted around tables, sipping stale water in plastic cups from the water cooler. Other pairs sat and watched the dancefloor together, where a large cluster of couples were currently dancing to Etta James. Crowley meandered through the tables, pulling back a seat for Aziraphale. 

Once they'd settled in across from one another, the awkward tension in the air between them seemed to ebb and ease. Crowley turned his chair slightly outwards towards the dancefloor, sprawled in a manner which could only loosely be described as sitting. The air was warm. Music filled the room.

"We haven't- I've-" Aziraphale sighed. "Its been a while since we've last seen each other, hasn't it."

Crowley didn't know what to say. He didn't want to sound too bitter, too bothered. Didn't want to just let him off the hook for it either. "Sure has."

From his periphery, he saw how the angel fidgeted, the folding chair creaking beneath him. "Do you come here often?"

"What?" He snorted, abrupt and loud. "You've got to learn some better lines."

"No, I only mean.. I didn't think you'd come to a place like this if it's not.. mmm.."

"A den of iniquity?"

A feeble shrug. "Well, yes."

Again, didn't know what to say to that. He gestured vaguely in the air. "Can only wreak so much havoc in a place like that anyways. At some point it's just repetitive." 

"Standard fare dubious business."

"Yep."

The song changed; people on the floor drifted back to their tables, hands and elbows interlocked, as others scraped their chairs against the floor and rose to the call of the next one. The space smelled floral, he noticed, a little artificial but not unpleasant. They sat in comfortable silence. 

Crowley glanced over, grateful for the shield of his glasses. Aziraphale looked tired. His hair was a bit longer than usual, curlier; his cream coat was as clean and prim as he preferred, but there were dark circles underneath his eyes. He wondered if he missed him. If this took a toll on him, too. Ultimately, he didn’t blame him- he couldn’t. Aziraphale had a lot more to lose. He had  _ everything  _ to lose. 

Aziraphale flashed him a small smile. "You know, I really do enjoy music like this."

"Mm." 

He thrummed his fingers on the table. "Nina Simone is quite the character."

Crowley leaned back, brows high. "You met her?  _ The _ Nina Simone?" 

"The."

He huffed. "Could've invited me."

"I hadn't been  _ planning _ on meeting her!"

He made a rude gesture. Aziraphale crossed his legs and grumbled.

They sat in silence again, this time less comfortable. The other man slowly looked over the room. "Were you coming to meet anyone?"

"No."

"Had a job to do?"

"No."

"Oh." The confusion was obvious in the wrinkle of his nose. "I hope you don't mind I ask, but what brings you here, then? You just come here..alone?"

"First time," Crowley replied, scratching his chin. He liked to watch people dance, even if he didn’t join. There was something hypnotic to it, something calming, and reassuring. They all looked so comfortable. Envy swelled up within him. "Places like this aren't so bad. Nice, actually." 

“They are.”

"You do like dancing, don't you."

He smirked. "Obviously. I'm rather good."

"Mmm." Aziraphale pursed his lips, clearly implying he didn't agree. 

He gave him a long look. This tension between them was too much, and this wasn't the way he'd hoped to reunite with his friend. His loneliness outweighed his compulsion to hold a grudge. This was an impressive feat, indeed. 

Crowley stood up, abrupt as anything, and patted Aziraphale's shoulder. The angel flinched, blinking in wide-eyed surprise. "Come on, hop up. I'll prove it to you."

"Oh.. but, Crowley, I don't know how to dance either."

"I thought you did. Were quite proud of it, actually, something about a discreet gentleman's club, wasn't it?"

"I know the gavotte!" He said, chest puffing up defensively.

Crowley just stared, dismayed. He still had one hand outstretched to him. "You can't tell me you haven't learned a thing since then."

"Not for lack of trying!"

"Come on, angel, I mean- Lindy hop? Rumba? The  _ charleston _ ?" Desperation colored his tone, back buckling as he leaned back for added dramatic effect.

"It's just not for me," he replied, wringing his hands. "Besides, I didn't think you knew any real dances, either."

"I invented interpretive dance."

Aziraphale cringed. "Hmm."

Crowley was growing tired of standing around. He reached down, grabbing Aziraphale by the hand and yanking him up.

" _ Excuse _ me!" 

They swayed in place momentarily, Crowley grabbing him by the shoulder to stabilize him, both grinning sheepishly.  The song changed. James Carr's warm voice flowed gently over the crowd. They were still holding hands.  Crowley pulled him towards the dance floor, nervous anticipation flooding through him for reasons he could not explain. 

Once in the center of the bustle, surrounded on every side by swaying movements and humans staring soulfully at one another, they both fumbled. They had never danced together before. Crowley felt like he'd missed many good opportunities somewhere along the way. He'd have to make up for it now. He put a tentative hand on Aziraphale's waist, taking the lead. 

"I don't know how to waltz," Aziraphale whispered urgently in the small space between them. 

"It's not a waltz." Crowley took his hand, putting it up on his own shoulder. "It's just a slow dance."

"Standard fare dubious business?" He asked, the mildest cheeky grin on his face.

"Mhm." 

Neither of them were good at this-- Aziraphale tried to keep a straight back and good posture, taking measured, awkward steps, while Crowley tried more for wide, loose steps, swinging them in a circle that nearly threw them both off balance. Okay, too fast. Dial it down. All good. He raised an arm, turning Aziraphale into a spin, but he didn't seem to know what was going on and let go, ending up a foot away and deeply flustered.  "Get back here!" Crowley laughed, and he couldn't help the grin on his face or the way his heart pounded. Aziraphale lurched forward right into Crowley, who was there waiting, steadying him with a hand on his upper arm. 

"I think we've just got to slow down."

"You, slow?"

"Oh, shut up." 

Aziraphale tried his best, like he always did. He came closer, his chest against his. His face pressed ever so gently to the side of his own. 

They slowed down.

"How long can you stay, Aziraphale?" The question came out more raw and anxious than he meant for it to. 

"I don't know." He sounded sad. "I don't want to go just yet."

He held him even closer, tucking his face against his neck. The other people around them made little space to accommodate them. They were encompassed by better dancers, a swaying endless ocean of movement in unity. The music ebbed and flowed. He could feel Aziraphale’s heartbeat, and the steady in and out of his breath.  He didn't want the moment to end, didn't want to walk away.  Slowly, the crowd began to melt away. It was just them, encircled and together. Aziraphale's breath was cool against his cheek. His lashes fluttered against his skin. "I missed you."

Had he not been so close, he wouldn't have heard that hushed whisper, so urgent, so relieved. His heart clenched. Crowley rested one of his hands against his lower back, holding him there, firm and close. "I missed you too." 

**Author's Note:**

> And when the daylight hour rolls around  
> And by chance we're both downtown  
> If we should meet, just walk on by  
> Oh darling, please don't cry  
> Tonight we'll meet  
> At the dark end of the street.
> 
>   
> Based on my Crowley/Aziraphale playlist:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5dL4Ieua8yHEO7c2k2iKVq?si=83f8t5UgTZusFkUke39FJQ


End file.
